


See How Man Was Made

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Oh Shenandoah, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In this bed, with just her body twined around his, it’s easy to forget. Grief is weighing him down, making his head spin. For just a few minutes longer he wants the world to just narrow to the two of them.</i>
</p>
<p>Post 3.05</p>
            </blockquote>





	See How Man Was Made

**Author's Note:**

> This broke my heart writing it, but I wanted to throw my take into the mix. The title is from the Josh Ritter song.

The room is quiet. 

Prison was a lot of things, including noisy, even in solitary (solitary was supposed to be a good thing. Was supposed to be for his protection, but what it was was lonely, left alone with only his thoughts). There were doors slamming, guards changing shifts, just noise all the time. 

His bedroom, however, is quiet save for Mac's soft, even breathing. 

She's coiled around him, her arms and legs pinning him to the soft mattress. She’s close, but she can't be close enough, if he's honest. He tightens his grip on her, being careful not to wake her. He doesn't want to wake her, not after seeing her drawn face in the streetlights, the dark circles under her eyes. He knows part of it is Charlie (he can't think about Charlie. If he thinks about Charlie too long, he'll come undone), but he knows she hadn't been sleeping well before that. 

Her visits to him in prison had been like clockwork. Wednesdays. One in the afternoon. She never missed one. And he had watched, helpless, as the dark circles under her eyes had grown. She was taking care of herself, hair washed, make up done, partly, he wondered, if only to keep him from worrying about her. She looked better, at least, than she did in the lead up to Election Day. She was eating some, sleeping some. 

He still worried, despite her scoffing and insisting that it was she wasn't the one in prison (and he caught the look in her eye when she said that. He was only too aware of the fact that their places could be swapped. She knew just as much as he did, and Jesus Christ that scared him in a way that he couldn't explain. Scared him to the bone). 

Mac shifts in her sleep, burying her nose deeper into the crook of his neck, and Will runs a gentle hand down her back, murmurs he loves her as he brushes a kiss to the top of her head.

He should be sleeping. 

They had gone straight to Charlie's house after Mac broke the news to Will. Will was only partly surprised to see Leona there when they walked in; she and Nancy were sitting at the kitchen table, their hands wound around each other's. Nancy glanced up with red, swollen eyes and immediately stood, coming to Will and wrapping her arms around him.

"He loved you," she said, her voice firm. She glanced over at Mac, and added, "he loved both of you so much." 

"What can I do? What can I help with?" Will asked when he found his voice. "Do you need me to make phone calls?"

"It can wait," Nancy gave his shoulders a squeeze before stepping back. "You know what I'd like?"

"Anything," Mac said, grabbing Will's hand tightly. "Whatever you need."

"I'd like to have a drink in his honor," Charlie's widow gave them a watery smile. "I think that's what he'd want us to do."

It becomes clear to Will that he's not going to be getting any sleep, and though he’s tired, so incredibly tired, mostly he's content that for the first time in 52 days, he’s in his warm, soft bed with his arms full of MacKenzie. 

Jesus. He wishes he would have been able to say goodbye. He wishes he could have been there for Charlie, for Mac (she hasn't said much about the ride in the ambulance with Charlie, hasn't said anything about waiting for Nancy to arrive after they declared him dead. He won't push her. She'll talk about when she wants to talk about it). He wishes...fuck, he wishes for so many things. 

At Charlie’s house (or Charlie’s former house, Will isn’t used, doesn’t want to get used to changing the present tense to past tense), Will wondered if they should be making arrangements, phone calls, but instead they drank with Nancy and Leona. Toasted Charlie and told story after story about him. Stories that made Will laugh, his laughter half tinged with hysteria, and some stories that broke his heart, holding onto Mac and Nancy and Leona, being grateful to be surrounded in that moment by the people who had loved Charlie the most. Stories about his time in Vietnam, and about his days early in the news. Finally, exhausted both physically and emotionally, Will called it a night, his wife half asleep, slumped against him trying valiantly to stay awake. 

The car ride home had been quiet, their hands tangled together. He wrapped an arm around her as they made their way up to their apartment, hips bumping together (the apartment that is now nearly finished. They have walls and furniture, and the fights they had over bathroom tile and kitchen appliances seem so inconsequential now). 

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Mac's lips were on his.

"Make me forget, Billy," she requested.

And he did, or he tried, hot hands on warm skin, losing himself in her. 

That was hours ago. Will turns his head slightly to look at the clock. They need to be up soon, need to go into the office. ("By the way," Mac had said after they had made love, their bodies boneless and satiated. "I might not have a job any longer."

"What?" Will sat up immediately.

"Pruitt fired me. And Sloan. Or tried to. Charlie," her voice broke on his name. "He told Pruitt that only he had the power to fire anyone, that it had been a gift from Leona, but now..." She closed her eyes for a moment; Will recognized it as her trying to get herself back under control. "Now I might be out of a job."

"Fuck that," Will said. "Fuck him." She had sat up and kissed him, running her fingers through his hair.

"Let's worry about it tomorrow. We'll have plenty to worry about tomorrow, what's one more thing?")

"I'm awake," Mac's voice is warm and drowsy. She presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "And you've been awake all night." Her tone is matter of fact, and he drops a kiss into her hair in response. 

"We should get up," he says, but makes no move to do so. In this bed, with just her body twined around his, it’s easy to forget. Grief is weighing him down, making his head spin. For just a few minutes longer he wants the world to just narrow to the two of them. 

“Today is going to be unbearable,” Mac murmurs. “Thank God you’re home.” He wonders if Charlie’s death would have propelled him into giving up the name of the source had Lily not killed herself, or if would have just made his resolve stronger. Charlie had been so proud of him (“I told you that you had the potential to be a great newsman, Will,” he had said during one of his many visits to prison); there was a warm feeling in his chest when Will thought about Charlie’s pride in his unwillingness to trade his integrity for freedom. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, and Mac shushes him, brushing a kiss on his pulse point.

“Don’t,” she admonishes. “Please don’t.” He’s not sure what he was going to apologize for anyway. For being in jail for the first 52 days of their marriage? For not being there when Charlie died? For Pruitt? These things aren’t his fault, rationally he knows that, but they feel like they are.

It takes him a minute to realize that Mac is weeping, her damp face pressed into his skin. 

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” her words are muffled. She tilts her head up to look at him, and he does the only thing he can think of, he leans forward and kisses her, hard, desperately, and then rests his forehead against hers. 

“We should get up,” he repeats, tangling his fingers in the back of her hair. They have to get to the office. They have to protect their team. Charlie’s team. 

It’s Will’s turn to be the leader. Charlie left big shoes to fill, and Will’s terrified of fucking up, of letting them all down. Letting MacKenzie down. It’s Charlie’s legacy at stake. 

Mac drops her head onto his chest, pressing a kiss to his bare skin, before sitting up and throwing her legs over the side of the bed. She pauses and takes a deep breath, and Will rests a hand on her back, and she glances back at him over her shoulder. She gives him a soft smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I'm glad to have you home," she tells him. "I'm so incredibly glad to have you home." Will's incredibly glad to be home. 

Charlie's death has left him feeling unmoored, but the feel of Mac, warm and solid, under his hand grounds him a little bit. 

It's still surreal, Charlie's death, and it hasn't really hit him yet. Going to the office, being in the spaces where Charlie is supposed to be and isn't. That's when it's going to hit him. Mac has had hours in which to process, was actually there, and in a way he thinks that might be easier. It's unfinished for Will in a way that it isn't for his wife.

Mac stands, walking into the now finished master bathroom, and Will rolls onto his back and just stays still for a minute, listening to the shower turn on, listens to the familiar sounds of Mac's morning routine.

Everything is different now, he thinks. 

He heaves himself up from the bed and makes his way into the bathroom. Mac's resting her head against the cool tile of the shower when he walks in. When she looks up at him, he can see that, though she looks exhausted, she hasn't been crying. Her eyes are dry, and she squares her shoulders.

"Join me?" She asks, and it's not an unusual request. He's spent many mornings trying to convince her of the benefits of sharing a shower ("We're saving the planet!" He would insist. 

"Uh-huh," she would deadpan, but the corners of her mouth would tug up and she would pull him into the shower and attach her mouth to his). This morning is different. There's no teasing lilt to her voice, no playful look in her eyes. He steps in and gathers her to him.

"We'll have to meet with Pruitt. I need to make it clear that my team, you, are off limits," Will says softly. "And there are things that need to be taken care of, arrangements to be made. And then..." 

"And then?" She looks up at him.

"Then we'll go do the news."


End file.
